Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Sri Lanka and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Crooked Eye. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every E-Dancer record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Loose Ends,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Frankie Knuckles,
Maleditus Sound,
Alison Limerick,
X-102,
The Dead C,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sixth Finger,
Terry Callier,
Sparks,
Carl Craig,
Joyce Sims,
Ultimate Spinach,
In Retrospect,
Los Fastidios,
FM Einheit,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Move,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Donald Byrd,
Banda Bassotti,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Joe Smooth,
Dave Gahan,
Gregory Isaacs,
Hashim,
Isaac Hayes,
Pere Ubu,
Mad Mike,
T. Rex,
Man Eating Sloth,
Surgeon,
DJ Style,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Angry Samoans,
Jerry's Kids,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
MDC,
Max Romeo,
The Raincoats,
Ornette Coleman,
Dorothy Ashby,
Rhythm & Sound,
John Foxx,
Ice-T,
Fluxion,
Adolescents,
Swans,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Trumans Water,
Sex Pistols,
Khruangbin,
Quadrant,
Bootsy Collins,
Eddi Front,
Blancmange,
Peter & Gordon,
Howard Jones,
Deadbeat,
Gang Starr,
Infiniti,
H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.